


Ronald Weasley and The Goblet Of Fire

by ElvisVF101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-21
Updated: 2006-11-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvisVF101/pseuds/ElvisVF101
Summary: The events of Book 4 from Ron's perspective.





	1. That's The Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

**Chapter 1: That’s the Ticket**

The best Christmas gift Ron Weasley had ever gotten was his very own Wizarding Chess Set. He was always jealous, watching the big kids play the game with the talking, moving men that hit each other. And they always seem to want to exclude him. It took several temper tantrums and threats of telling mum in order to get them to teach him, but by the age of seven, he could beat any one of his brothers, and his dad. That Christmas, when he opened up his very own Chess Set, he was happier than any seven year old in all of Britain. It didn’t matter that it was actually his grandfather’s old set, the black king was missing his crown, and the white bishop was actually a black one charmed to look white, or that the pieces kept confusing him with Granddad. It was his very own chess set, and Ron Weasley had the best Christmas gift ever.

But this was loads better than that. This made his Chess Set look like a four-foot essay from Snape on the proper brewing of Wolfsbane Potion.

“I take it you’re excited, son?” asked Arthur Weasley.

Excited was an understatement. Tickets to the Quidditch World Cup were quite possibly the best thing ever. It took Ron a moment to pull his jaw back up and find the words to describe it.

“This... wow, Dad! This is fantastic! I can’t believe you got them! It’s amazing! We’ll get to see Viktor Krum, Dad!” Arthur smiled as his son went on. Evidently, once Ron had found his voice, it has rather hard to get him to stop gushing over the ticket in his hand. “You should have seen him against Madagascar! He’s the most amazing natural flier I’ve ever seen! And he’s so young! He got discovered playing for some school team in Eastern Europe! Wow... just... wow, Dad! Thanks!”

“You sure you’re not thanking me prematurely? I haven’t told you all of the news just yet.”

Oh boy, here’s where it would come. Ron knew this was too good to be true. Now would come the conditions. He’d have to degnome the garden six times a day and do the dishes after every meal for the rest of the summer. And he’d have to spend at least three hours a day revising so he’d be ready for the new term. Still though, it’d probably be worth it just to go to the World Cup. That was worth almost anything.

“In addition to the tickets for everyone in the family, we have two extras. So, I thought that you and Ginny might want to each invite a friend. Mum’s even offered to let them stay for the rest of the summer. She evidently doesn’t indulge her maternal instincts enough on just the seven of you. She needs more children to smother with affection and cooking,” said Arthur mildly, although his eyes were twinkling with mischief behind his glasses.

Ron’s voice abruptly left him again, as did control over his jaw. Really, Dad should be careful. Ron could only take so much earth shattering news in such a short amount of time. Arthur gave his shell-shocked son a clap on the shoulder. Molly would probably insist on Ron minding his manners and saying thank you, but Arthur knew from the look on Ron’s face that he was plenty grateful. The hand did seem to rouse Ron out of his gobsmacked state.

“I reckon I should go owl Harry...”

This statement was punctuated by something hitting Ron in the back of the head. He turned just in time to see his sister deftly gathering the Quaffle.

“You always were a bit slow. I already beat you to it. Mum sent the owl this morning,” she said with a smirk as she headed up the stairs.

“Sorry, son, but it’s true. I told her this morning while you were having your daily lie in. She seemed rather excited. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.”

Ron winced as he rubbed the back of his head. Ordinarily, this would have been the perfect chance to take the mickey out of her for her silly crush, but Dad was right. Ginny had seemed a lot happier lately. The prospect of Harry staying for the summer and going to the World Cup had made her happier than he’d seen her in a long time. Well, at least since her first year. But no, no thinking about that right now. Right now, all he wanted to think about was Quidditch. Ron himself still hadn't tried out for the Gryffindor House team, but he was going to seriously considering trying out this year. Oliver Wood had just graduated, and the Keeper position would be open. He had only ever played with his brothers, but even that had to be better than nothing. After all, how many other Keepers had played backyard games with 4 Gryffindor House players? Maybe if he went to the World Cup, he could meet a professional scout who could see he had what it takes and would be recruited to a Youth Academy, and some day, he could be the youngest Keeper to play for England...well, probably not, but it was fun to think about.

Besides, there would be plenty of chances to play Quidditch this summer. There would be enough for three a side games. Bill and Charlie would be back, and so would Harry... and someone else. Since Harry would already be spending the summer, Ron would be able to invite anyone else he liked. He thought about his dorm mates, but he knew most of them would probably be going on their own anyway. Besides, he didn’t really care too much about hanging out with them over the summer. He didn’t really hang out with them all that much during the school year. At Hogwarts, he always hung out with Harry...and Hermione. Hermione! Hermione?

Things were better between them. The fight over the Firebolt and the fight over Scabbers were long since forgotten. But Ron still felt guilty for being a little hard on her last year (ok, maybe a lot). He felt like he owed her. He wasn’t sure why, he’d blown up at loads of people over the years, the twins in particular, but he never felt bad about it. But when Hermione had grabbed him and cried on his shoulder, he felt ridiculously guilty. He felt bad about yelling at her and calling her names, but not quite bad enough to explain how he felt when she was crying on his shoulder. He knew he had never quite done enough research to help Buckbeak, and he had been stuck in the Hospital Wing when she and Harry had rescued Sirius and had gone after all those Dementors. He felt useless, like he had let her them down, let her down. She...they shouldn’t have had to do all that; he should have been the one to help Harry, especially after how awful he had been to her.

Maybe he could give her the ticket. It would be a nice thing to do. However, it was Quidditch, and Hermione didn’t care much for Quidditch, probably because she was a girl. Girls were weird about this kind of stuff, and Ron could never understand it. Still, she might like to see all the wizards and witches who would be coming from all over the world to see the finals. She would go on and on about culture and history and all that rubbish when he would ask her about Muggle Studies and History of Magic. It was amazing how long she could go on when all he asked was “what does this mean?” Mental, that one was.

Ultimately, Ron decided that it would be a good idea to give Hermione the ticket. It would PROBABLY be a nice thing to do; hopefully she wouldn’t think he was just a Quidditch obsessed boy who was dragging her along. Hopefully, she would think it was a nice thing for him to do, and it would make her happy. If she was happy, she would probably be less likely to cry on his shoulder again.

“Thanks again, Dad. I’ve got an owl to write.”


	2. Frayed Ends

 

_"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars._

 

            Of course it had to be this way. Ron had saved his pocket money all summer so that he could get something nice at the World Cup. He hadn't had a chocolate frog in nearly six weeks. Still, all his meager savings could buy him were a dancing hat and a singing bouquet. All around, there were fashionable young wizards and witches carelessly throwing away galleons on foreign food and fancy new accessories that the vendors were hawking. He felt very self-conscious in his patched jeans and hand-me-down jumper that was a size to small, having once belonged to Percy. A pair of pretty blonde girls had given him a look of disgust when he smiled at them a little while back. _"Why shouldn't they?"_ he thought. After all, the Quidditch World Cup wasn't just a sporting event, it was a social one as well. The best of Wizarding Society always turned out for it. Sure, the masses might listen in over the wireless, but only the elite would get in to a match. He and his family and friends were only here because Dad had gotten a little lucky. He was a fool to believe that he could ever belong here. 

 

            He thought back to the day he thought that he might _impress_ someone here and play for England someday. What a joke. Things like that didn't happen to him. They happen to other people...like Harry. 

 

_"Three pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard._

 

            Oh no. No. Ron may have been pretty down on himself, but the last thing he wanted was pity, especially from Harry. How could he have made Harry feel like that? Sure, just a moment ago, he was feeling a little jealous, but Harry's fame and fortune came from his parents, and they had fame because they were good people, and had clearly passed it on to their son. And being good had gotten them killed and made Harry an orphan. Of all the people in the world who could have pitied him, why Harry? It made Ron feel terrible. Only Hermione feeling pity for him could have made it worse. 

 

            Hermione? Why would that make it worse? He felt a little silly that morning when he was getting dressed, feeling like he ought to wear something nice. But, in the end, all he had were his patched jeans and hand-me-down jumper. Why did he feel like Hermione was inspecting him when she came down the stairs that morning? He felt like she was disappointed when she saw him, like she was expecting someone else - someone who had galleons to spend on her. Why was he thinking that? Hermione had never asked him to buy her anything? Why was he feeling now like he should be the one paying for the Omnioculars? Maybe he was making it all up. After all, Hermione didn't actually look at him funny that morning. All she had said was "good morning Ron." HE was the one thinking all that other rubbish. 

 

_"You won't be getting any Christmas presents," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."_

 

            He did want them. He really did want them. He would be much more able to enjoy the matches. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who knew when he'd be able to go to the World Cup again? If he was here, why not enjoy the matches properly? Besides, he'd be able to pay Harry back... someday... somehow. Who knew, things were always possible. Strange and good stuff seemed to happen to him when Harry was around. Their past three years at Hogwarts were...eventful. Things always looked bad, but they came out of it. So sure, why not take a ten galleon gift from Harry? He'd worry about payback later. 

 

_"Fair enough."_

 

_***_

 

            Why in Merlin's Name would anyone ever need to wear dress robes? 

 

_"Your father's got some for smart parties!"_

 

            Like Ron would ever be caught dead at a "smart party." He saw the way people looked at him at the World Cup. Ron knew he didn't belong. ESPECIALLY not wearing something like the hideous, lacy rag in front of him. Not when everyone else would be wearing something fashionable like Harry's new robes. Of course, everyone there would probably have money to afford the newest fashions. They wouldn't have to deal with patched jeans, hand-me-down jumpers and second hand, lace frilled dress robes. 

 

            No, people like Harry would go to parties like that. Famous, rich people who were good at everything they did, and had talents other than playing Wizarding Chess. Harry could regale all the A-listers will tales of how he defeated You-Know-Who as a baby, and then became the youngest Gryffindor House Seeker in a century at Hogwarts, then went on to lead England to its first World Cup in two generations, and became Minister of Magic, all before he was twenty. He'd go to that party with a Bulgarian Veela from the World Cup. Everyone would laugh at his stories, and he and Hermione would tell everyone about all the good times they had at Hogwarts.

 

            Hermione? Well of course, she'd be there. The Boy Who Lived and The Brightest Witch of Her Age. They went together like peas in a pod. How could they not? These hideous robes only made it clearer how out of his league Ron was with friends like that. 

 

            And, of course, Harry had to see these blasted robes. He'd already seen the ramshackle dump that Ron lived in, and all the corner-cutting and skimping his family had to do to make ends meet. So why not make the humiliation complete and see the rubbish that Ron would have to wear to some "smart party" where he wouldn't belong? It fit right in with the crooked house, the patched jeans, hand-me-down jumper, and that stupid feathery git of a bird he owned now because his old rat happened to be a cowardly villainous murderer of a wizard in disguise. It all fit, it was perfect, just perfect.

            

_"Why is everything I own rubbish?" said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak._

 

***        

_"Weasley, you weren't thinking of_ wearing _these, were you? I mean, they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety."_

 

            No, it wasn't perfect before, but it was now. Of all the people to discover the rubbish he was going to have to wear, _Malfoy_ and his goons had come in and pulled them out for all his dorm mates to see. And _why_ did he have to pull them out in front of Hermione? Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe a troll would come and knock the train off the tracks, or a flock of dementors would come and kiss everyone on the train. Then things would be better. 

 

            He wouldn't have to deal with the ridicule of his dorm mates, or the surprised look on Hermione's face when she saw those blasted robes. Now she too would know the truth too. She had seen the Burrow and the way his family lived. There was no way things could get worse.

 

_"Don't tell me you don't_ know? _You've got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don't even_ know? _My God,_ my _father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Maybe your father's too junior to know about it Weasley... yes... they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."_

 

            It was a dangerous moment. Ron was about half a second from leaping across the compartment and throwing Malfoy out the window. But he missed his chance. He stayed seated too long taking in what he said. 

 

            That little ponce always did love to show off his station, and he could do it to. The differences between Weasleys and Malfoys were pretty obvious. The robes, and their father's positions only made it stand out more. Malfoy had called out Ron in front of everyone, and he couldn't do anything about it. 

 

_"Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -"_

 

            Terrific. Hermione had seen everything. Heard everything. Even she thought slamming the door and breaking the glass was stupid. She knew that the stupid ponce was right. And now, she was feeling sorry for him too. His only hope now was a troll, or some dementors, or maybe a Whomping Willow spontaneously springing up in the middle of the tracks.

 

_"Him! Get to me? As if!"_


	3. The Dark Mark

_“Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed.” said Mr. Weasley. “The terror it inspired...you have no idea, you’re too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you’re about to find inside....” Mr. Weasley winced. “Everyone’s worst fear...the very worst...”_  
  
His father’s words were still heavy on his mind when he saw his mother nearly squeeze the life out of the twins in a giant bear hug. The Dark Mark. It was the sign of a murder. It’s what those lunatic Death Eaters probably meant to do to those Muggles, after they were done hanging them in the air; they were going to kill them... Ron knew a little bit about those pureblood fanatics, the ones that kept lobbying for Muggleborns to be banned from Hogwarts, or who Dad sometimes had to go after for playing pranks in Muggle London. But these Death Eaters, this was something new. This, this was evil. He reckoned that You-Know-Who had to be a loony to want to go after Harry when he was only a baby, but that his Death Eaters would do something like this… that was something he never considered. He had heard rumours of what had happened during the first war, but seeing the Mark made everything look different.   
  
His mind drifted back into an evening from a few years ago, when he was about nine. He was looking for hidden Christmas presents he knew mum had brought back from Diagon Alley. He had looked everywhere: The shed, the kitchen cabinets, under all the beds. There was only one place left. Mum’s old wardrobe, the one that she always kept locked under a powerful charm and told everyone to stay out of. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to get in, but there were only 2 weeks until Christmas, and little Ron was determined to know what would be under the tree this year.   
  
Mum was still downstairs in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch, so Ron knew he would only have a few minutes to check. He opened and closed the door of the toilet so that mum would think he went to wash his hands and then quickly headed for his parents bedroom. The old wardrobe was in the back corner of the room. It was intricately carved, but an anxious nine year old looking for Christmas presents would never notice the patterns of lions, flying horses, trees and rings carved on the doors. Instead, he eagerly turned the handle, hoping that mum had forgotten the locking charm. He was in luck! The door opened, and the wardrobe magically expanded to reveal several chambers in which things could be stored. However, Ron couldn’t get into any of them. It appeared several more spells held the inner chambers closed. But there was one cupboard in the middle that caught Ron’s attention. There was a silver glow emanating from the edges of the door. Ron decided to press his luck again. The door opened to reveal a stone basin. It was very old. There were carvings along the rim and the sides that may once have been very detailed, but had faded over time. Still, the silvery contents of the bowl were what caught Ron’s attention. This was mum’s Pensieve. He knew because dad had used one to show him his first time riding a broom. Watching his dad as a little kid being unsure of how to do it and slowly learn how had made Ron feel a little better about his initial fear at using a broom. Ron wanted to see more, but dad had said no. Pensieves were very private, and it wasn’t good to go snooping around in one.   
  
Still, nine-year old Ron was very determined to know what he was getting for Christmas, and mum wouldn’t tell him. She had said that morning that she had forgotten what she got. At first, Ron thought she had said this just to throw him off, but maybe she had put it in the Pensieve! He knew he shouldn’t, but Christmas gifts were a very serious matter. Ron thought he’d take a risk. Tentatively, he reached out a finger to the silvery wisps swirling in the bowl. All of a sudden, the room lurched, and Ron felt like he was falling…  
  
… until he felt his feet hit the ground. Instantly, his nose was struck with the smell of something burning, and his eyes stung from smoke. He coughed and rubbed his eyes until he could make sense of where he was. He was standing on the front porch of a small house that was on fire. Quickly, he stumbled down the steps, away from the flames and smoke. He collapsed onto the front lawn and breathed in some fresher air when he heard the crack of someone apparating. He turned to see who it was, and was shocked to see his own mum...or so he thought. She looked younger, and she was pregnant.   
  
“Mum!” yelled Ron, as he ran out to meet her. “Mum, I’m sorry, I was...I was...I didn’t find anything!”   
  
But Molly didn’t notice him. She was looking up at the sky, a look of pure horror on her face, and she let out a gut wrenching scream. She ran straight to the house, and straight through Ron. He was a little taken aback. Suddenly, he heard another crack, and turned to find Dad.  
  
“Molly, wait!” he shouted as he caught up with her.  
  
“Fabian, Gideon, they’re still in there!” Molly was nearly hysterical as she fought her husband’s hold and tried to run into the burning house.  
  
“Molly, look at me.”   
  
“I have to go in there, I have to help them! They need me!”  
  
“Molly, look at me.”  
  
“Arthur, we have to help...”  
  
“We can’t.”  
  
“You don’t know that!”  
  
“Molly, look at the Mark.” Arthur pointed above the roof of the burning house. Ron turned to see what he was pointing at. What he saw nearly knocked him off his feet. A huge green skull was hovering in the sky, and it had a snake for a tongue. He didn’t know why, but it scared him worse that the twins turning his teddy bear into a spider.   
  
“They could have fought them, they might have been able to get out before...” Molly pleaded.  
  
“Molly, you know what this means.” Arthur said with a very pained look on his face.  
  
“No…” Her voice was very small and trembling now.  
  
“We need to contact the Order.” Arthur told her has he held her tightly.  
  
“It’s their fault!”  
  
“You don’t mean that.” Arthur said, trying to be reassuring, even though it didn’t sound like he completely meant it either.   
  
At that moment, Ron felt a tug on the back of his shirt and felt everything lurch again. When he was reoriented, he found himself face to face with mum, and she looked very upset.   
  
“I...I...I didn’t find them...” Ron sputtered.  
  
Mrs. Weasley prodded the silvery contents of the Pensieve with her wand until they began to swirl faster and faster. A ghostly image of a burning house began to appear. Her eyes widened, and she turned immediately on her youngest son.  
  
“What did you see?” Mrs. Weasley said apprehensively.  
  
“I...what?”  
  
“Did you see anything?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice now.  
  
“I was just...I didn’t mean to...”  
  
She grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him close. She had tears in her eyes and her whole body was shaking. “Ronald, you must tell me now, did you see anything?”  
  
“I...no...I didn’t see anything.” he lied. He had never seen mum this scared before, and he reckoned it would be a bad idea to tell her about what he saw. She seemed relieved as she wiped her eyes, and unconsciously smoothed Ron’s shirt.   
  
“Ronnie, you must promise me now, you’ll never go looking in my Pensieve again. Do you understand me?”  
  
The way his mum had looked at him that day, the way she seemed so fragile and broken, so desperate, it made Ron feel awful. He had never felt that way before, and hadn’t felt like that again until Hermione cried on his shoulder last year. He had the same feelings of letting his mum down as he had of letting Hermione down. Mum did so much for him. Mended his clothes, made him his meals, and even though she and dad were overworked and underpaid, he and all his brothers and sisters would have something under the tree for Christmas. He remembered last Christmas, when he had opened up a deck of Exploding Snap cards and a pair of Quidditch Keeper gloves, he felt like the luckiest boy in the world. His mum and dad though, seemed even happier somehow, like they liked surprising him as much as he liked being surprised. And he had gone and tried to ruin that this year. And, in doing so, he had intruded on something very private. Something mum didn’t want him to know about.   
  
As he grew older and started going to school, Ron learned more about the first war, and how people were afraid, and how brave people were killed for standing up to You-Know-Who. He also learned about his uncles. Whenever anyone asked about Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian, mum, dad, or others would simply say, “They died in the war.” Ron stopped asking questions.   
  
Until tonight. Tonight, he saw what he had seen in the Pensieve all those years ago. And finally, he understood.


	4. The Fifth Champion

The party had been in full swing for about half an hour. Of course everyone wanted to celebrate. Harry Potter was a Tri-Wizard Champion. Who wouldn’t want to celebrate? Whenever The Boy Who Lived For The Spotlight pulled his next stunt, naturally all of Gryffindor would want to party. All the blokes would pat him on the back and give him high fives while all the birds would bat their eyelashes and try and get on his arm. That’s the way things were supposed to be.   
  
Everyone would gather round as he and Hermione told everyone how they came up with the plan for Harry to break the age line: Hermione found a charm to get him across. And Harry would then tell everyone that after he broke the line, he had to get past a banshee and fight a duel with an enchanted suit of armour before he could put his name in the Goblet. Naturally, Fleur would have seen everything. Harry’s bravery would have made her swoon, and she’d be on his arm when he returned triumphantly to the victory party in Gryffindor tower.   
  
So naturally, Ron did the only thing he could. He went upstairs to mope in solitude. A victory party for The Great Harry Potter was not the place for him. He didn’t belong, any more than he belonged at the World Cup or at a “smart party” wearing his rubbish, second-hand lace-frilled robes. He couldn’t stand being down there while people were gushing about Harry. People would come up to him and ask him what it was like to be friends with The Great Harry Potter.   
  
Like he could tell them. If Harry was his friend, he would have told him how he got past the age line. Then at least Ron would have had a chance. But why would Harry do that? He’d seen Ron for what he really was. He’d seen his house, his clothes, the way he lived, the way people treated him. Why would Harry ever believe that Ron should enter his name to be Hogwarts Champion? Heck, why would Harry ever believe that Ron should be his friend? After all, it’s not like he could do anything for Harry. He even had to take a ten galleon gift from him to enjoy the World Cup.   
  
No, it was too much. Ron had taken enough embarrassment in front of everyone. He didn’t want to be there when Harry got back. He couldn’t be seen next to him, or else everyone would see just how pathetic he really was. They would see that he was only friends with Harry because he was popular, and it was the only way he could ever get ahead. He certainly wasn’t going to make any friends for his fame, his fashion or his talent. He would have to rely on his famous friend, The Great Harry Potter, to get anywhere in life. He couldn’t stand for anyone to see that. No, Hermione certainly couldn’t see that.  
  
Hermione? Well, this was pretty much it, wasn’t it? He’d done his best to make up for being a git last year by bringing her to the World Cup and letting her stay for the summer, but it couldn’t be enough. Not after everything she’d seen. The old clothes, the old, creaky house, those robes, Malfoy putting him in his place. He couldn’t add tonight. He couldn’t let her see how pathetic he was next to Harry. No, it really was best he was up here, alone.  
  
How could he ever dream that he belonged down there? To think, he thought he might even try out for Quidditch this year. As if! That wasn’t how the universe worked. Obviously, since Wood had graduated, and Ron Weasley was the only prospect for Gryffindor, the Inter House Cup simple had to be cancelled. Ron Weasley could not be allowed anywhere near the pitch. Not if Gryffindor was to carry on its recent string of glory. No, all the glory that Harry and Hermione brought to Gryffindor the past three years could not be undone by the likes of Ron Weasley. So, naturally, the Tri-Wizard Tournament had to be held this year so that Harry could get more glory. And, of course, Hermione would be there, helping. Yes, it was best Ron stay away. He’d only mess it up. It was all he was good for.  
  
  
_“Where’ve you been?” Harry said._ _  
  
_“Oh, hello,” said Ron.__  
  
***  
  
It’s nearly impossible to stay mad at your best friend. Not if he’s really your best friend anyway. No, there are some bonds that go deeper than petty jealousy, irrational anger, and just plain thick headedness. Ron Weasley was slow to learn things like this though. After all, it took a fourteen-foot cave troll to make him realize that he had been a complete arse to one of his best mates. It only made sense that it would take a forty-foot Hungarian Horntail to make him realize that he had been a complete arse to his other best mate.  
  
It was silly to be jealous of Harry. After all, he didn’t ask for all the things that happened to him. He didn’t ask to be born into a world at war. He didn’t ask to have heroes and martyrs for parents. He didn’t ask for a scar that linked him to the Darkest Wizard in nearly half a century. And, much as the limelight might be nice, Ron had to figure that Harry wouldn’t ask to be chased by a Hungarian Horntail. It was all well and good for the other champions. Undying glory and a thousand galleons was a pretty good deal. But Harry didn’t need the money or the attention. He had both. All it took for him was a bloodthirsty nutter intent on conquering the world. Why complicate matters with a dragon?  
  
What would he have done if the dragon had gotten Harry today? Sure, Harry was probably ok. He flew brilliantly, even better than Krum. But still, it was a Hungarian Horntail. Charlie always came back home to recover for about a week when his shift with the Horntails was done. Ron had never known Charlie to be weak or afraid, but even he had to admit that it took some guts to handle Horntails. The only time he had ever seen Charlie in pain was when George had cuffed him on the shoulder where he was sporting a fresh burn from an angry Horntail Bull. The only reason Harry was ok was because he was brilliant. Ron certainly couldn’t begrudge him the skills he needed to stay alive. Besides, if something happened, and he and Harry hadn’t worked it out...well, best not to think about things like that, at least not on an empty stomach.   
  
All this time, Harry had known about the dragons, and Ron hadn’t been there for him. He saw all the difficult spell work that Cedric, Victor and Fleur had used, and they hadn’t done half as well as Harry. The only reason he did so well was because he knew a Summoning Charm. Good thing Hermione was there for him.  
  
Hermione? Oh, all the nasty things he had thought about her recently. She couldn’t help it if she was brilliant. It was scary for sure, but it was a good thing to. Harry’d be cooked if it wasn’t for her. She was there for him, again. And Ron had failed them both, again. She kept trying to get him to make up with Harry, and he was too thick to listen. He just kept moping about how much better Harry was than him. And it was true. Harry was a pretty special bloke, but even The Great Harry Potter needed friends. The Tournament only showed it more.   
  
The rest of the school was following that slimy git Malfoy’s lead and making Harry’s life miserable again. Well, Ron Weasley might be a thickheaded dolt, obsessed with Quidditch and disgracefully poor. But he knew a bully when he saw one. And right about now, the school was filled with hundreds of bullies who were squarely focused on his best mate (truth be told, he was one of them for a long while). But that was all going to change. No more picking on Harry. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved better. He deserved better than him of course, but it was all he had right now, and Ron decided that it was better than nothing.   
  
_“Harry, whoever put your name in that goblet - I - I reckon they’re trying to do you in!_


	5. The Yule Brawl

_“Why did I do it?” he said wildly. “I don’t know what made me do it!”_  
  
The only thing that could have made Ron’s humiliation complete was for him to have asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball in his Martin The Mad Muggle Boxer Shorts. Although, she hardly could have looked at him with more scorn, so maybe the boxers wouldn’t have made much of a difference. And everyone else around was already laughing hard enough. So, in the end, it was probably an act of mercy for everyone involved. Ron didn’t have to deal with the humiliation, and the spectators could not faint from laughing too hard. Let it never be said that Ron Weasley was a totally inconsiderate boor. He was only mostly inconsiderate.   
  
Vaguely, he was aware of Harry talking about Fleur being part Veela. Sure, it fit. When he walked past her, it felt like being under the Imperious Curse. His mind went blank and he felt like a million galleons. The second she looked at him, it broke the spell though, and everything came crashing back. What an awful feeling. He really only had one option.  
  
He had to make fun of Neville. Really, with his life so thoroughly ruined, it was the only thing he could sensibly do. It would have worked too if Ginny hadn’t gone and blabbed to Hermione that he had been rejected. His only remaining solace was that no one else had a date yet either. Granted, they hadn’t been enchanted by a Veela and made total fools of themselves, but why bother with the details.   
  
_“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone, somewhere who’ll have you.”_  
  
Oohh, there she went again, looking all smug and cute.  
  
...What?  
  
Well, ok, Ron had to admit it. Hermione was not a troll with an off centre nose. In fact, he rather liked her nose where it was, even when she was looking down it at him. But, obviously, there was a possibility here. Hermione had as good as asked him to ask here. Someone, somewhere indeed. Of course she didn’t want to go with Neville. I mean, sure, Neville was an all right bloke in his own way, but Hermione couldn’t possibly want to GO with him, anymore than he wanted to GO with anyone. This was perfect. He and Hermione spent loads of time together. They wouldn’t have to put up with all this boy/girl rubbish that was going on at Hogwarts in anticipation of the ball. All he had to do was to convince her of his brilliant plan. It's a good thing he was still feeling some of the Veela Charm, otherwise he might not have been able to ask on his own...  
  
_“Hermione, Neville’s right. You are a girl...”_  
  
...Bugger...  
  
_“Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!”_  
  
Ok, so things weren’t completely lost yet. Sure, she was mad, but hardly a day went by that Ron didn’t do something to annoy the bushy haired witch currently bristling in front of him. But that wasn’t a problem, all it meant was that he had plenty of experience with how to deal with her. And, in this instance, the solution was clearly to gracefully admit defeat and move on.   
  
_“Okay, okay, we know you’re a girl,” he said. “That do? Will you come now?”_ _  
  
_“I’ve already told you!” Hermione said very angrily. “I’m going with someone else!”__  
  
...No, couldn’t be. No way. Hermione? No. No way. Seriously, who? What in Merlin’s name was going on here? Hermione, get dates before him and The Boy Who Lived? No way.  
  
_“She’s lying,” said Ron flatly, watching her go._  
  
***  
  
There were probably words to describe what exactly Ron Weasley thought when he saw Hermione Granger on Viktor Krum’s arm at the Hogwarts Yule Ball. However, they were well beyond him. He’d probably have to go digging through one of Hermione’s precious Ancient Runes texts to find them. He was sure the ancient Britons, or maybe the Celts had some archaic words to describe the unique mixture of emotions he was feeling. If he combined the Latin word for Shock with the Saxon word for Disbelief, added the consonants from the Gaelic word for Furious, and made a diphthong with the old Egyptian word for Completely and Utterly Defeated, it might cover about a quarter of what he was feeling.  
  
Viktor Krum. International Quidditch Star. Tri-Wizard Champion. Rich, famous, eighteen and smart enough to ask Hermione to the ball before him.   
  
Wanker.  
  
But it fit of course. Harry was a champion, so he belonged up there. And, if she couldn’t go with him, she had to go with someone else. Viktor Krum would have to do.   
  
Hermione, go to the ball with Ron? What was he thinking? She had seen the tilted house, the shabby clothes, that ruddy owl... He reached to scratch a loose thread on his sleeve...oh right, that. Yeah, quite a sight he and Hermione would have made. Her pretty blue dress would have gone nicely with his maroon dress.   
  
Right. So, this Yule Ball business was supposed to be fun. Whoever thought it was supposed to be fun should have made sure that Ron got a different set of robes, and made sure that Ron went to a different Yule Ball, preferably one without living legends and international Quidditch Stars who were being escorted by brown haired witches with normal sized teeth, dead centred noses and pretty blue robes.  
  
***  
  
Dancing was not supposed to be fun. Dancing was something boys were made to do against their will by tittering girls who loved flowers and lip-gloss and all that rot. Since when was Hermione one of those girls? And why in Merlin’s name did Viktor Krum look like he was ENJOYING dancing? Didn’t the bloke know that dancing was something girls made you do? Obviously one too many bludgers to the head if he was enjoying dancing.   
  
What was Hermione thinking, leaving him like this? She was always so keen on “helping” when Ron was enjoying some well earned time off, going on and on about “deadlines” and “due tomorrow.” Now, when he needed her most, to rescue him from a problem far worse than a Binn’s quiz on the Goblin Rebellions of the 16th Century, she was out dancing with Krum. A real friend, that one.   
  
_“How’s it going?” Harry asked Ron._  
  
Was someone talking to him? Couldn’t they see he was busy right now? A man plotting the death of an International Quidditch Star couldn’t very well be bothered to make small talk. No, not when there were logistics about burials and weapons disposals to be coordinated.   
  
_“It’s hot, isn’t it?” said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand._  
  
Hot, here? No. Now the inside of Krum’s cabin aboard the Durmstrang Ship, that would be hot. After Ron had set the fire and trapped that thick browed, duck footed tosser inside.   
  
_“Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks.”_  
  
So, she’d come to throw it all in his face, hadn’t she? Show him just how worthless he was compared to a guy like Krum. Well, Ron Weasley may be a poor, worthless wizard, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to get shown up again. This situation called for the famous Weasley Wit.  
  
_Ron gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”_  
  
...Bugger...maybe picking a battle of wits with the brightest witch of her age was a bad idea...  
  
_“What’s up with you?” she said._  
  
Clever question. Good thing he had a good answer prepared.  
  
_“If you don’t know,” said Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”_  
  
Yeah, that’ll tell her...bugger...time for some quick thinking or he’d be on the losing end of this one.   
  
_“Ron, what - ?”_ _  
  
_“He’s from Durmstrang!”__  
  
...What?  
  
_“He’s competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts!”_  
  
...OK, good one Weasley, there’s hope yet...  
  
_“You - you’re -”_  
  
...Come on mate, think of something!  
  
_“Fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!”_  
  
...OK...not bad...let’s just see what the all-knowing Hermione Granger does with that one!  
  
_“Honestly - who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory?”_  
  
...Oh...right then...  
  
_“He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with...He’s just trying to get closer to Harry - get inside information on him - or get near enough to jinx him - “_  
  
Ron knew the moment he said that that it was uncalled for. He had officially questioned Hermione’s loyalty to Harry. Even Ron knew that it was absolute and unwavering, probably more solid that his own. After all, she hadn’t turned her back on him when his name came out of the Goblet. Ron had done that, all on his own. And she had been the go-between during those awful weeks when he and Harry weren’t speaking. And now, here he was saying that Hermione was undermining Harry. Well, he’d gone and done it now. He could try to navigate his way to some safe ground in the fight, but the inevitable had happened yet again. Ron Weasley had lost another argument to Hermione Granger.  
  
_“Are you going to ask me to dance at all?”_  
  
Was someone still talking to him? Couldn’t they see he was in the middle of losing an argument? Honestly, some people had no manners.   
  
***  
  
As Ron came into the Common Room, he was just in time to see Hermione hurl away a discarded jumper and muffler from the chair by the fire with a disgusted look on her face.  
  
“Hey, those are mine!”  
  
Hermione looked over her shoulder and gave him an indifferent look.   
  
“I suppose they are. You know, most people wouldn’t leave such a mess where it could ruin someone else’s night. But then, I guess you’re not most people.”  
  
“Hey, don’t blame me because that ruddy Ball was awful!”  
  
“Oh, it was awful, was it Ron? It was awful to be able to have a break from studies once in a while? It was awful to have a nice boy notice that I’m a girl and treat me to a wonderful evening? It was awful to dance and enjoy good food and stay up late? No, I suppose that was awful.”  
  
She was getting worked up. Ron could sense one of Hermione’s famous explosions coming. Unfortunately, since she had walked into the Great Hall in her pretty blue robes on the arm of Viktor Krum, Ron had been having some trouble stringing coherent thoughts together, else he might have found a way to defuse the ticking time bomb in front of him.  
  
“You’re right Ron, I had an awful evening. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that one of my best friends was moping in the corner all evening, refusing to enjoy himself. It had nothing to do with the fact that you weren’t making any sense, going on and on about ‘fraternizing with the enemy.’ It couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that I was accused of betraying my other best friend. No, certainly can’t see how that would relate to anything.”  
  
“Well...I wasn’t the one who...”  
  
“Who what Ron?” She stamped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. Sadly, Ron knew from experience that this wasn’t playful banter anymore. She was full on mad at him. He couldn’t really blame her either.  
  
“I just...”  
  
“What Ron? What?” She had her hands out and was nearly pleading with him.   
  
“I DIDN’T LIKE YOU BEING THERE WITH HIM!” he wasn’t quite sure why he yelled. Maybe it was just to match her. But he knew that now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back.  
  
“Well if you don’t like it, you know what the solution is, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”  
  
“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!”  
  
Terrific, Harry had to choose that exact moment to walk in. Absolutely perfect. He had to come up with a response.  
  
“Well, well - that just proves - completely missed the point -”  
  
Yeah, right.


	6. Something

“You want us to do what now?”  
  
Professor McGonagall gave Ron a rather intense look. She didn’t relish telling the three witches and wizard in front of her what was expected of them, but young Ron Weasley wasn’t helping any.  
  
She’d once boasted rather splendid black hair that caught the eye of many a young wizard when she was a vain teenager, showing off in the halls of Hogwarts. Then she decided to teach. Naturally, when one must deal with children at boarding school, grey hairs were an occupational hazard. But it wasn’t until a mischievous young boy by the name of William Weasley stepped into her classroom and began transfiguring young girls’ hairclips into spiders that her hair truly began to go grey. Being a driven and focused witch, Minerva McGonagall researched every possible charm, potion and spell that might save her beloved locks. But once she met young William’s parents, and discovered that they had _seven_ children, all magical, she knew better than to fight a lost cause. Fortunately, the bun hid most of her grey hairs, and she found that the stern look it gave her proved useful in controlling her classes...well, classes without red-headed twins anyway.  
  
“As I said, Mr. Weasley...and perhaps you should pay attention this time...” to which Hermione huffed, as if such a thing were not possible, “the four of you will be participating in the second task as hostages to be rescued.”  
  
Ron quailed slightly under the scrutiny of his head of house, but in the end, his curiosity got the better of him. “Err...yeah...but...that sounds dangerous!”  
  
None of the others had spoken yet, but Cho, Hermione and the little blonde haired girl, who, Professor McGonagall had told them, was named Gabrielle Delacour, all seemed to have the same unspoken question, as they were nervously fidgeting in their conjured chairs, each of which was very hard and stiff, as if to encourage proper posture. Of course, Minerva McGonagall would expect nothing less from her young charges.  
  
Professor McGonagall became slightly less stern. “I understand your concerns Mr. Weasley. But...Professor Dumbledore has assured me that you four will be in no real danger. The enchantment will keep you safe.”  
  
“You might also try to enjoy it, Mr. Weasley. After all, it’s not often your professors ask you to sleep during school hours,” Professor Dumbledore interjected with a chuckle. “Now, once I place you under the enchantment, you will fall asleep and will be woken once the second task is complete. It might be a bit chilly, mind you. February is not the month most students would choose to swim in the lake. However, when one is sixteen and trying to impress a very choosy witch, one might do something...inadvisable...” he said with something of a wistful look in his eyes.  
  
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.  
  
“Oh, my apologies. The past does come back to me these days. As I was saying, the enchantment will keep you safe until the end of the second task.”  
  
“Err...Professor Dumbledore sir?”  
  
The two professors gave Ron a look, McGonagall with a touch of impatience, but tinged with a touch of grandmotherly affection, and Dumbledore with open amusement.  
  
“Most definitely a Weasley. So much like his brothers,” he said to Minerva. Ron was a bit taken aback by this statement. He thought about Bill and Percy and, for a moment, wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or not.  
  
“Ummm...”  
  
“That is not a question, Mr. Weasley, although I suspect you still have one, do you not?”  
  
“Well, umm, yes sir. Why us?”  
  
“That is a far better question and it has a much more interesting answer. You have been chosen as the objects of rescue for the Champions’ Second Task because each of you is dear to one of the Champions. You are, in essence, what they would miss the most. Hence, your rescue should give them sufficient motivation for completing their task. After all, they are young, and as professors, we find that young students often need incentives and deadlines to complete their tasks. Would you agree, Mr. Weasley?” said Dumbledore, with another amused glance at Ron.  
  
“Oh, err, yeah.” This, of course, was the moment in the conversation where Ron’s ears would turn red, as if to confirm Professor Dumbledore’s earlier statement about Ron definitely being a Weasley.  
  
“Well, if there are no more questions...which I find hard to believe, Ms. Granger,” said Dumbledore, turning to Hermione with the same amused look on his face.  
  
“Oh, well, yes...” she stuttered, going slightly pink in the face. “I was wondering how you would be enchanting us to sleep in the lake?”  
  
“Ah, yes, that might be something to be concerned about. Breathing is a very natural worry for most people. However, I’m sure you already have some theories of your own. Why don’t you share them with us first? As your professors, we are somewhat curious to see how you apply what we attempt to teach you when you aren’t doodling on your parchment.” Dumbledore winked at Ron.  
  
Hermione seemed to light up at this invitation. “Oh, well, I have been thinking. I think the _Somnius_ charm would be best for placing us into a deep sleep!” The corners of Professor McGonagall’s mouth turned ever so slightly upward at this. “But as for breathing underwater, we’ve been looking everywhe...ohh...” She and Ron exchanged a quick look of panic.  
  
“You have been looking everywhere for a way to help Mr. Potter, much in the same way Ms. Chang has been helping Mr. Diggory. This is correct, yes?” All three Hogwarts students exchanged a rather startled look, but nodded in agreement. “As we suspected, but no matter. Yes, Ms. Granger, the _Somnius_ charm will be used to place you all asleep, as well as to allow you to breathe normally underwater.”  
  
“But sir, I thought - “  
  
Dumbledore held up his hand “I have made some modifications. You likely won’t find them in any textbooks, but then, not all learning comes from books, Ms. Granger.”  
  
“Oh yes, sir.”  
  
“Very well, if there are no more questions...”  
  
There was one in the back of Ron’s mind, which he was struggling to work out. The thing the Champions would miss most? Well, Gabrielle was obviously Fleur’s sister, and Cho and Cedric seemed to be awful close since the Ball. Krum didn’t really know Ron, so he must be for Harry. But then, Harry would miss Hermione too. That didn’t make sense, Harry had two hostages and none for Krum...unless...  
  
 _Somnius._


	7. Brothers In Arms

“You can’t catch me!” shrieked five-year old Ron Weasley.   
  
His big brother Bill could, of course, catch him whenever he wanted, being much bigger and faster than him, but Bill Weasley knew that The Code of Big Brothers specified that, occasionally, you had to let the little rugrats win for a little bit. It usually proved helpful in tiring them out. Besides, “babysitting” sure beat de-gnoming the garden, or one of the seemingly endless list of chores his mother had. Honestly, didn’t the woman know it was summer?   
  
“I’m faster than yooo-ooo, I’m faster than yooo-ooo,” mocked Ron in a sing song voice.  
  
“Oh, is that so ickle Ronniekins?” Bill made a fresh dash at his youngest brother. Ron moved quickly, as only a five year old could, and dashed down the hallway towards the kitchen. Bill started off in hot pursuit before he tripped on the edge of a chair.  
  
“Oww!”  
  
“Oh no! Bill!” Ron scampered back to his big brother as fast as his little legs would carry him. “Are you ok?”  
  
“GOTCHA!!!” Age and experience had taught Bill a few tricks about how best to deal with younger brothers. Younger brothers were often naive about the kind of tricks big kids could play on them, like pretending to be hurt. It was now appropriate to use the age-old method of teaching his younger brother a lesson. It was time for the two handed tickle hold.   
  
“NOOOOOO!!! Ok, ok, I give up! You win! It tickles, stop Bill, no more!!!”  
  
“Oh no you don’t, squirt. You thought you were gonna get away, didn’t you? Who’s the best big brother?”  
  
“No, no!”  
  
“Come on...say it....”  
  
“WILLIAM!!! RONALD!!!”   
  
“Hi mum.”  
  
“Hi mum.”  
  
“And just what are you two doing?”  
  
“I’m babysitting, mum. We’re having loads of fun. Just ask Ron.”  
  
“Yeah mum, Bill’s the best babysitter ever!”  
  
Molly could try to be stern all she wanted, but the sight of her oldest and youngest son having fun together was worth a little ruckus in the house. Ron had been very depressed without Bill and Charlie around during the year. Without anyone to police them, the twins had been running amuck, and poor Ron was usually their victim. Even Percy couldn’t control them. He was the victim as often as Ron. Only Ginny was spared their wrath, mostly because she liked to tag along and laugh at her older brothers’ misfortunes. The twins had adopted her as their unofficial mascot. With the return of the older boys for the summer, things were a little fairer, even if they were still a bit noisy. “Well, Bill, Ron, perhaps you two would like to take a break from “babysitting” and come join me in the kitchen for some biscuits.”  
  
“BISCUITS!!!” Ron mad a dash for the kitchen. This time, Bill made no pretence about codes and fairness and simply grabbed his little brother and carried him down the stairs, thereby insuring he would get the first of his mum’s ginger biccies. There were some things that simply took precedence over code. Besides, Ron was easily placated by getting the second biccie.   
  
“Fanks mum, whassaccashun?”  
  
Molly sighed. So many lectures about not talking with their mouths full, and her sons still had all the table manners of a rampaging Hippogriff. Still, it was nice to know that her famous biscuits had lost none of their potency. And anyway, today was special. “Look on the table.”  
  
Bill’s hand froze, halfway to his mouth with a second biscuit still in hand. “Is that -”  
  
“Congratulations, dear. I’m so proud of you!”  
  
“Mummy, what’s that?” Asked Ron, pointing to the badge with a lion’s head on it.  
  
“That is Bill’s new prefect badge, Ron. Your big brother has worked very hard at school.”  
  
Ron’s eyes went wide with wonder “You mean Hogwarts?”  
  
“Yes, dear. If you work hard, maybe you can be a prefect like Bill.”   
  
“I will! I will! I’m gonna be just like Bill when I grow up!”  
  
“Well, William is going to have to grow up himself before you can be like him.” Molly looked fondly at her two sons. One nearly grown up, showing so much promise. Bill was a good influence on Ron, who clearly looked up to him. Bill took his responsibilities seriously, although his fun loving, laid back manner wouldn’t indicate to most people what a hard worker he was.   
  
And her other son, her youngest and the most unique challenge. Ron’s eyes still held a little bit of wonder as Bill showed off his badge and let Ron try it on. Her little Ronnie was a good boy. It was hard for him to be himself sometimes, surrounded by so many strong willed big brothers. But he wasn’t like any of them. Her older five all influenced Ron in their own way, and he looked up to all of them. Who would he be?   
  
Well, at the rate the ginger biccies were going, it was certain that he would be a Weasley if nothing else.   
  
***  
  
_“Who’re you blackmailing?”_  
  
This was serious now. Ron knew the twins had been plotting and scheming for the Joke Shop for months now. It had been fun listening to all their ideas. Ron was deeply impressed with how thorough they had been. They seemed to really want to do this. They had found a purpose, something he had been searching for himself, but he was nowhere near as far along in planning his life as his brothers were. Bill, Charlie and Percy all had good, stable, respectable jobs, and now the twins had a plan. All Ron had was some half-baked fantasies about glamour jobs: Aurors, Professional Quidditch Player, Wizarding Wireless Network Star. Nothing serious, not like his brothers. It made him a little jealous and a little afraid.   
  
But blackmail? He knew the twins were serious about the shop. All his brothers were serious in their own way. It was hard work coming up with all the products they had together, he knew they had been saving up and were still in need of some galleons to keep their fledgling business alive. He had even sat in on some of their planning sessions that summer to decide how to come up with some extra money to keep their hopes alive.   
  
He had overheard all the...umm...exchanges...they had with mum. Well, there really wasn’t much of an exchange. Mum just kind of shrieked and bellowed at them, and they were smart enough to just try and survive the encounter. Ron had endured his fair share of lectures for just being with them while they were inventing. The last thing he wanted was more trouble. Ron Weasley might not have known what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew that blackmail probably qualified as trouble.   
  
_“You’re starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you’ll be made a prefect.”_ _  
  
_“No, I wont!” said Ron hotly.__  
  
Who would want to be a prefect? Besides, Ron knew it wasn’t as if he had what it took to be a prefect anyway. He wasn’t Bill.


	8. Epilogue

He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He made it back. Only Cedric got ki...  
  
Ron Weasley decided that this track of thinking wasn’t helping. He should be relieved. His best mate was still alive, even though he had just been through a duel with the most evil Dark Lord in half a century. There had been an elaborate plot to kill him, and he managed to come out the other end alive.   
  
Only Cedric had di...didn’t make it.   
  
Maybe he shouldn’t be so relieved.   
  
He thought back to the Dark Mark, memories in a Pensieve of a burning house, and his mum and dad watching helplessly. He thought of uncles he never knew.   
  
He thought of meeting an orphan whose parents were murdered in cold blood.  
  
He tried not to think about his best mate lying on the ground, huddled over a body. There was a split second where he wasn’t moving. Ron thought he really knew about death. He thought he had stared it in the face. But being advanced upon by a transfigured chess piece, or screaming at a convicted murderer was nothing compared to seeing your best mate on the ground not moving. THAT was death. That was cold and unforgiving. That taught Ron Weasley what it meant to be powerless. That was what war meant. That was what being an adult meant... an Auror, a soldier...  
  
Fourteen year olds were prone to delusions of grandeur. Youth meant that what you learned one moment was quickly forgotten the next. How long would this lesson hold? Who knew? But, until Harry woke up, Ron would be cured of childish dreams of heroism and glamour.   
  
***  
  
Six year old Ron Weasley was hiding in the tree next to the pond. He had no choice, really. If he didn’t hide up here, there was no way he’d be able to avoid his little sister, who insisted that Ron play with her. Specifically, she wanted Ron to play catch with her with Bill and Charlie’s old Quaffle. Being six years old, Ron knew a few simple things about life. Mum’s ginger biccies were the very best in the whole world, teddy bears should not turn into spiders, little sisters were annoying, and girls could definitely NOT play Quidditch. Only big brothers played quidditch, since mum and dad let them up on brooms. If Ron was too small to be up on a broom, there was NO WAY little Ginny could ever get up on a broom.  
  
His plan of hiding was working perfectly, that is until Ginny found him. She came running out into the yard, holding the Quaffle, which was much to big for her.  
  
“Ron, come play!”  
  
“Go away, Gin!”  
  
“No, come play, Ron!”  
  
“I’m not playing with you, Gin!”  
  
“You are too!”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
Ginny had always been a very perceptive child. She knew that Ron wouldn’t listen to her arguments, so she decided on the next best course of action. She would climb the tree and make Ron come down.  
  
“Ginny! Stop, don’t come up here! I don’t want you here!”  
  
“Be quiet, Ron! We’re going to play!”  
  
“No, Ginny! Go AWAY!”  
  
Ron’s breath caught in his throat, because just as he screamed, Ginny’s hand slipped, and she fell to the ground. Ron panicked as Ginny lay there limply, not moving.   
  
“MUUUUUMMM!!!!”  
  
***  
  
Ron waited outside Ginny’s Room. Mum had Flooed a healer from St. Mungo’s to come see Ginny. They had checked her for broken bones outside on the ground. The healer said she was lucky. She had only hit her head and broken a few bones. If she had been just a little higher, she might have broken her neck. Bursts of accidental magic sometimes saved young witches and wizards in near death situations, but not always. All in all, they were very fortunate. Things could have been a lot worse. When they first enervated her, Ginny screamed out in pain, clutching Molly tightly.   
  
Ron felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out.   
  
The healer and Mrs. Weasley were still with Ginny in her room. Ron sat outside, thinking about what had happened. Seeing the panicked look in Ginny’s eyes as she fell, seeing her lying still as a statue on the ground. The healer saying she was lucky, that she could have broken her neck. The scream when she woke up; it was awful. Ron had never felt like this before, and he never wanted to again.  
  
Finally, the door opened.   
  
“She should be just fine ma’am. Just make sure she gets plenty of rest and takes her potion regularly. She’ll be right as rain in a few days.”  
  
“Thank you, Healer.”  
  
Molly saw the healer to the fireplace before coming back. Ron expected to be yelled at. Instead, his mother was rather gentle with him, although she did look very angry.   
  
“Ronald, you will stay with your sister until she wakes up. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, mum.”  
  
As Ron walked into the room, he found Ginny sound asleep, nestled beneath her covers, cuddled with her favourite stuffed bear. She looked so peaceful, it seemed hard to believe that just half an hour ago, she had been lying on the ground, and had almost not woken up again. Ron hopped up on the other side of the bed and took Ginny’s hand in his.  
  
“I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. He took his sleeve and wiped the tears out of his eyes. “I promise, I’ll always be there for you. We’ll play whenever you want. Promise.”   
  
For a fleeting moment, Ron thought he saw the corners of Ginny’s mouth twitch upward. Content with that image, Ron put an arm around Ginny and curled up next to her. In a few minutes, they were both fast asleep.  
  
***  
  
_“I told him to take the cup with me,” said Harry._  
  
Ron shouldn’t look. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Harry was trying to hold it all together. He could tell just by looking at him that Harry was trying to stay strong and not break. He knew, because Ron himself had felt that way too often this year. But in his case, it was over nothing.   
  
Harry knew what it meant to suffer. Ron might be poor, but he had a home and a family. Security. Harry had been a target since before he was born. He hadn’t had a real family since he was a baby.   
  
Harry had a reason to cry, to feel pain. Ron decided he wouldn’t look away. He was going to remember today. He was going to remember it all. The omnioculars, the Goblet, the Horntail and this moment here. He had almost lost Harry twice. The first time was because he was jealous and the second time was because a murderous villain wanted him dead. Some friend he had been. But no more. Ron would look and remember. For Harry's sake. Harry would never again stand alone, not while he had Ron Weasley. It wasn’t much, but it was something.   
  
THE END


End file.
